Status: Single
City: VICTORIA
State: Texas
Country: US
Signup Date: 6/2/2006
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Thursday, October 15, 2009
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Category: Music
World affairs have a way of embellishing themselves onto the world of the arts. The political battlefields and the chest-beating posturing that goes with them burn their collective way into the products of any and all people with the power of imagination. As artist wandering the cyclonic playgrounds of the human race, we glean unique ways to express what we see. The same old “same old” is always there. Boring rhetoric and endless speeches fill our senses with platitudinous overtures of epic proportions. The constant barrage of opposing views and clashing beliefs numb us more than any drug ever can. Try to comprehend it all and one might well end up in a fetal position, sweating, shaking, or worse. Lies abound. Leaping from every podium to snatch our hearts, minds, and wallets, they compete in a game we wish would end. It never does. We watch elections the world over and wince at the violence of oppression that is clear and present. Not all nations are democracies but, that doesn’t mean we are by any means living in a utopia. Who was the last president that kept his promises? I wish I knew. That’s an interesting research to undertake. File the idea under “to do”. History teaches us to remember it for the sake of not having to repeat the pains it has taken us through. Not learned, that lesson is guaranteed to teach itself again and again. From the highest of human leadership, to the lowest malicious cult leaders, we find ourselves all too easily navigating a minefield of infinite emotional sandpaper. Tongues spit fire towards us and we react by reflecting the flames. Beware the feedback loop with a liar in it. Hurricanes of words are difficult to escape from once they inhale the fuel of your soul. Many old masters who were forbidden to paint certain themes got past the oppression by hiding their work in plain sight. Small scenes buried within scenes, the flow of a blouse like water revealing more than what the eye initially sees. Forbidden words hidden in the ruffles of collars and tiny stabs at authority, deftly brushed into buttons, rings, sword hilts, and brooches. The inquisition could crush free thinkers and their beliefs but not the spirits of those who understood what was at stake. Mozart gave us great symphonies and operas with suggestive emotional content. The beauty of many of his pieces was in the way they acknowledged even the darkest side of human nature. Even as some hated him for his actions in the public eye, he transcended the political state of the world he existed in, with his music. Today artists lay their hearts and souls on the block with each release of their wares just as much as those of the past have done before them. The only difference is the arena in which they have to compete. The political climate in some countries can stymie the expression of the arts and many have been arrested or even put to death for expressing themselves by artistic means. In other places long standing old world systems embrace the arts and let them become the voice of the people. They are free to protest their leaders or praise them. Either way what is expressed is an almost direct derivative of the known political climate. Half a world away an artist can sing about an injustice and be heard while another half a world away another artist doing the same thing simply and suddenly disappears. Nothing can ever give the human race more hope than when a group of artist come together to express themselves on behalf of some part of the world filled with people who cannot. The underlying cause usually has a political underpinning that fostered the situation and many deaths have probably already occurred before the first fully fledged breath of the idea has been exhaled. The urgency becomes palpable with each new breath and the momentum quickens to mercurial speed. Good intentions inspire greater and greater components that all seem to be malleable enough to be fitted together to build the vehicle that will convey the dream of everyone to fruition. In the end the accomplishment becomes the vindication that the dream was worth the time and sweat that was required and given by all involved. The world, or at least a larger part of it, heard the voice of a few crying out for the voices of the many that were trapped in the silence of distance and out of sight. A difference was made! Artists inspirations became the inspirations of the people! Collaborating with other artists can be a bag full of doorways. You can find new opportunities to soar, or you can make a humble introspective journey into yourself and find new ways to look at things you are, or, are not doing. With the ability to share ideas in many ways thanks to technology, we no longer have to go to a big fancy studio to “get things done”. Small home studios are everywhere and the artists that populate them cover every genre imaginable. With collaboration the number of doors is infinite and the possibilities as well. That old reliable, eighties-metal will never die. Thanks to the die-hard fans and the “never-say-die” attitude of musicians who keep the guitars loud and the bravado “wild”. Success could be found by branching out into pop, hip-hop, country, rap, R & B, soul, or any number of genre’ that are enjoying the spoils of notoriety, but hard rock and metal have grown to feel so much like home that the peace it gives can never be replaced by any other style of music. Granted, success in the music industry these days is due to perseverance and diversification, lack of it in no way means an artist is not talented. Talent is an objective term. These days almost every big name records in a huge high end studio and they all end up using the same high end tools and techniques to get what has turned into the “cookie-cutter” sound of today’s hits. I’m not knocking any other styles of music; I just have an undeniable love for HEAVY METAL! The music of today is so muddied up with genre and sub-genre, sub-sub-sub-genre, ad-infinitum. Any true focus on the “music” itself is near impossible. Making repeated subdivisions to established styles detracts too much from what makes music what it is. That’s just my opinion about that. Music was made to be enjoyed by the listener. The scientific quantization of it, though very useful when composing pieces, is the farthest thing from the minds of music aficionados. What does a song do to you? Where does it take you? Can you resist its pull? How far will you let it, “fly you”? I’m truly keen on metal and hard rock but I do listen to other styles. When I collaborate it’s usually with artist in genre removed more or less from my own favorites. I have to find the way to fit what I can do into their compositions. They can tell me what they want from me, or ask me to dive down the stairs so to speak and see how the landing turns out. There’s a great drummer in ....Chandler.., ..Arizona...., Terry Daun, who has released a number of solo projects. When I first became aware of him and his music, I heard a great keyboard player who had the technical fineness to program intricate and engaging drum tracks. The fact that he was such a great trap-set player was a new discovery I made after I’d known him for a year or so. I did a bit of collaborating with him on a couple of his tunes and it was a lot of fun. My lead tracks were there in a video he shot while on vacation in ....Hawaii...., strolling through smoking volcanic calderas. If I ever have an idea that his drums or keyboards might fit into, I will definitely give him a call. He just might be too busy as he has a new band with a former guitarist of Alice Coopers’. Another great artist to collaborate with is none other than the local man with the best business plan, Jesse De La O. Having worked on many tunes with him and had a few of my own worked on by other artists by way of his endeavors; I can honestly say that working with him on music is always a great learning experience. It’s not just the music, but it’s also the insight he has about how to handle the music business climate. Not all people can be trusted and watching him learn this by trial and error, I have learned that being able to accurately judge people is no perfect science. It can however, save you a lot of time dealing with those who have no real focus. Another aspect of working with Mr. De La O is the way his compositions and his direction for what he needs on a particular track are communicated clearly. It can be to the point or, in some of the most amazing sessions, you can see his mind at work molding the music at hand into a new form in an “on the fly” way that’s rare but always an honor to be witness to. I’m sure he would rather I not put him on a pedestal but in my eyes, he is the most under acknowledged artist in the area. If you let him steer and have no fear, he can make you famous. Lastly and by no means the least of my favorite collaborators, Roy Coston, lead guitarist of the ....Oneida.., ..New York.... rock band, Lovebone. My work with him has been minimal thus far but, being the stickler for detail that he is, and thanks to a few new programs in his digital audio workstation, there is a tune or two in the wings. He’d sent the first file to me a year or so ago. When I first started working on it I just went all out and made a full production of it. I was not aware that all I needed to do were some guitars. I added bass, drums, and vocals. Jesse (De La O) was supposed to do the vocals and lovebone has a bass player and drummer. In the end we all had a good laugh and just moved on. Though Terry and Roy are artists I have yet to meet in person, having talked a bit on the phone with both, I can honestly say that their personalities are not the “nose turned up” rock stars that a lot of artists become with a taste of fame. I can relate to and identify with their humility. We all share a passion for music and that passion is what binds us together as friends. Who knows, maybe my collaborators and I will form a band someday. That would be a cool band to play in! When someone approaches out of the fog of life with an idea, you should pay attention. It just might be a worthwhile muse inspiring you to open, and then step thru a brand new door. There’s only one way to find out what’s on the other side. If God would have kept the heaven and earth a secret, where would he have put us? If Leonardo had never made the Mona Lisa smile, would we have been as fascinated with it? When you hear a new song do you realize what someone has gone thru to create it? What if they had decided to keep it a secret? What if the record company decided it wasn’t the right time for such a song? Many things we experience today could just as well have never made it out of the realm of thought. The vestibules of electrochemical processes can easily create ideas from sensory input as well as from random thoughts, or even the lack thereof. When ideas take shape and we commit them to reality, the distances we are prepared to go with them should never be considered lightly. Where would we be today if God had kept it all to himself? Some people are afraid of certain concepts. I’m sure more than a few bibles are in hand right now, drawn back and secured with a trip hammer. I don’t question God. Not ever. My “what if”, was one of many “unanswerables” we are all free to consider. We as a species want to know how things work. It fits well into that category. As close as I can come to an answer is to say that I’m glad he chose to share his great idea. The point I’m trying to make here is one about what creative persons sometimes do with a great idea. They don’t always share it with the world. How many great works of art were only found after the artist had died. The world discovered a trove of treasures that had been stored away from our eyes in the hope that we would probably never see them. Leonardo Da Vincis’ many sketches of inventions and anatomy, war machines and more, complete with handwritten and secretly coded notes deciphered by mirror, are among these things. How many musicians are still releasing music long after their death? Hendrix is still my favorite in that category. We may think we know everything there is to know about someone like, Albert Einstein, Michelangelo, Neil Pert, or even our best friend, but the truth is we know only what is above the surface. So how much “stuff” is there, hidden away in some dark corner of a closet or safety deposit box? How much creativity have we been deprived of from dreamers throughout time? All other art forms aside, when a songwriter writes a new tune they sometimes hold it back for fear of someone “stealing” it. Indeed, and I will name none of the ones I know, there are some top selling artists without an original song in their discography. You probably have them in your collection. The original creators of those songs trusted someone to get a demo into an executive’s hand. In the end, without a copyright or any concrete way to prove it was theirs, they were hit with the brick, so to speak, when they realized their song was a number one hit by the same artist they had entrusted with their creation. To get your music or other artistically expressed idea copy written, there is a process, and fees to go along with it. The last time I checked, most unknown artists could not realistically afford to do this. Sure, the big dogs have a lot of money and time to do it with but when they do it they usually copy write things for themselves. Successful artist can afford it as well. It’s an “operating cost” that looks good on the books and also lends credence to that slick packaging they can also afford to use. The undiscovered have to make do by other means. Sometimes that means keeping everything super-secret for as long as possible. Sometimes that veil is never lifted. We won’t feel it, but the world becomes something a little less when that happens. Now that you know this, will you try to “feel” it? What did the first music sound like? Did Neanderthal man bang sticks and bones together? Was it a clapping of hands? Was it a rhythmic grunting? Come forward in time. What were the first notes to fly from the fingertips of Beethoven? What were the last notes he ever heard? Come forward again. What did Hendrix see when he threw his head back and pushed that note thru the clouds and into outer space? What did Janis see when she closed her eyes and whispered that rare soft section of words straight from her heart? There’s enough music in the world for us to be able to hear a new song each day for probably more than a lifetime, but there is still a lot that has never survived the ravages of time or the swords of oppression. The extinction of artistic creations whether known or not, still leaves a void. Some we can easily know about, others, we just know something is missing and not what it exactly is. An inevitable effect of being human is that at some point in your life you will be pulled in more than one direction at the same time. As a species we form groups in which all members feel they identify with one another on some level. Be it politics or religion, arts or the metaphysical, these hoards are the armies we align ourselves with. We “sign up” and raise the flag, draw our sword and stand proudly. Many years ago, one man saw the opportunity to create an army. He took it and made history. His soapbox swelled to epic proportions and his silvery tongue hypnotized the masses. Although many of the world’s nations stood against him, millions lost their lives. His snares of words are still in use today and the ideals he stood for and initiated are still carrying out predation. It’s easy for some to be blinded by words and back then many were. The human race came together to defeat him but, we never defeated his ideologies. Is it our right or our duty to remove such cancers from existence? We are all created equal. But then, ego steps in and delusions of grandeur soon make us abrasive to one another. Intellect can sometimes have the nasty little side effect of distancing people from one another through incomprehension. The better individuals among us stave this off by being patient. Those who cannot understand have to be tolerated with true honesty and diligent attention. Simply shunting them aside in pursuit of a goal is one of the lowest forms of ignorance there is. This journey we call life is more bridge-spans than roadways. The burning of even one bridge can easily become the burning of too many. Let others do the burning, save what you can and learn from the experience. A young child finds himself at a huge theme park. A small town youth organization has taken a handful of him and his friends there. It’s a wonderful day and the kids are left to wander the rides and attractions at will with a specified time to regroup at the entrance. This child has a wonderful day and circumnavigates the park many times. At one point he is alone and making his way to where a few of his friends said they would meet him. The crowds are not too heavy and he is happy. Then, just ahead, three older teens in cowboy hats walk by. They have mischievous grins on their faces. One leans to and shouts a racial epithet. The “N” word hits him like a fist out of nowhere. The three teens march away and the child looks after them for a few confused moments. The frown that has creased his face so deeply slowly cuts into his awareness. The incident will live on sharply in his memory for all his life. As he matures he will ask himself such things as; “why did they do that?”, “what kind of parents raise such children?”, “what did I do to deserve that?”. And all along he will have great questions without any words to them forming in his mind. Most will never be “filled in”. The truth he will come to understand, is that people form groups and those groups sometimes develop the hive mentalities that cause social abrasion. The web is full of groups. Where do you belong? Are you a facebooker, myspacer, twitter-er, (tweeter?), or do you have a site name after yourself that has a large loyal following of friends, fans, or family? It’s possible to belong to any one, or more, of what are probably millions, if not more, sites populating the World Wide Web. There are good sites that promote the entire human race, and there are sites devoted to culling our species down to a single “race”. All aspects of the human condition are represented and everything is pretty much “on the table”. All religions can be found as well as all none religions. Those three boys in the previous paragraph are people I often wonder about. What have they become today? Who else might they have “hurt”? If the world is in any luck, they never got educated enough to become truly dangerous to anyone but themselves. On the other hand, if they became web-savvy, and maintained their ideological course,,, the point is moot. Hatred for any reason is a muse with brass knuckles. Artist may or may not find it hard to express themselves in the aftermath of it. But the end product will almost always be ripe with darkness and brooding. It’s almost impossible to keep from reflecting at least some of the hatred back at society. A conscious effort has to be made, and it’s the artists’ dubious obligation to rein it in as much as possible. Just look at what hatred has done to us already. It sickens us. It kills us. It laughs in our faces and we laugh back at it. It hits us. We might strike back but, all too often we only hurt innocent bystanders. Hatred blinds us all, too easily. It is a capacity that, sadly, we are all born with. Hatred makes us scream and smashes dreams. Hatred furrows our brow and melts our plow. Hatred burns our hearts and tears us apart. Hatred knots our souls and turns us cold. Hatred steals our smarts and clouds our art. I hate “Hatred”! And so, the human race is splintered into many diversified groups. Some coexist in peace and respect while others exist only to rip existence apart until it fits their utopian nightmare. They all want “you” in some way. They may want you to join them. They may want to keep you out. They may not even care if you’re in or out but rest assured, they want “something”. Hatred has bred a conflict that will easily see this species to its last days on Earth. The crowds are thick today and the kindling is very dry. It’s snowing a light gunpowder of words and everybody has a match. On a clear day she makes beautiful sense. Her every word becomes a gentle breeze that stretches my sails and keeps me on course. She sings the waves into a gentle pitch and the sun does not burn my skin. The hold is full of fresh supplies and the world beckons me to the bow for a long lasting look ahead. The keel thrums inaudibly as it breaks new water in each moment and a soft cool spray strokes my face. On a clear day, she makes beautiful sense. Her voice is a sweet soliloquy tugging at the wheel. The course does not matter, nor the destination for today. I will get there, when I get there. For now, every note echoes the creation of a good memory. My mind is a cathedral reverberating with her song, of her life, and the love she sends my way. The masts creak gently and the soft breeze whistles softly thru the rigging. Her voice is a sweet soliloquy, tugging at the wheel. Her eyes are the clouds thru which the sunlight breaks. Mottling the sea with curious shadows and telling me a thousand tales with a single glance. They are the two other oceans that hold worlds I cannot help myself but to dream of. They are the windows to her soul and far more magical than those of the Medusa. I freeze when they blink, and thaw when they re-open. They weather my soul and bash my shores with waves of whim and fancy. Her eyes are the clouds, thru which, the sunlight breaks. Her smile is the moon in my hands pulling the tides around my heart. She makes me feel young. I am the hawk silhouetted against her face. I am the cry of the eagle, from a million miles away. I am the happiness in whale-song, and everything unknown in the sub-sonic words of elephants. I am the laugh of the dolphin and the cry of the wolf, the pulse of the jellyfish, and the “I see” in the eyes of the gorilla. She makes it easy for me to be all these things and I soar between the stars on her wings. Her smile is the moon, in my hands, pulling the tides, around my heart. On a cloudy day Glenda can always change the weather. On a cloudy day, Glenda, can always, change, the weather. (Inspired undoubtedly by the muse I can never refuse, Glenda.) Things we “could have done” can weigh heavy on our souls. No matter how far we shove them into the back of our minds or glaze them over with present happenings, they seep thru to quietly torment us. It may have been something over which we had no control, or something over which we had total control. Whether infinitely small or overwhelmingly massive, trivial or all important, our actions at that crossroads are what they are. There is no time machine in which to go back to correct anything we ever do. I envy the mind that can sweep everything under the proverbial rug. Those synapses fire in a state of bliss, ignorant and happy to function at that level for the duration of their lives. My skull hosts a never-ending rain of winces. Each one smacks with the imagery of a past situation, complete with sounds and smells. We can numb ourselves to the truth, and therein lays a dismaying salvation. Amnesia may work for years, or only mere moments, but it removes us from our actions or the actions of others, for a time. Then, when we are deep in the mental distraction of our daily routine, we trip on the rug. Things I could change, I did. Things I could not, I could only try. Wisdom from such situations is usually bittersweet. Our brains are cargo containers. Our mental baggage ends up wherever we toss it in and a lot of the latches are broken. It’s a loose mixture of memories, good and bad, and of all sizes and shades. The scattered piles are, for the most part, things we would rather not handle, but wade thru we must. There are a few good things hidden amongst those piles. I know that analogy might not be what you consider anything near a representation of your own, but such are my observations of myself. I used to think I kept everything in perfect order, until my grasp was ripped from the ladder and I had to “re-discover” who I really was. The pasts we all come to posses can sometimes morph into muses. We all have our opinions about various things but those viewpoints can change with the drop of a hat. The publishing of a news story, witnessing of a crime, an accidentally eavesdropped conversation, or even the simple act of passing by something and just noticing how out of place it is, are all tips of icebergs that jostle us thru our day. Hindsight sneaks up and delivers a shin-splintering blow. We will survive our wounds. We may not be able to change the past but the past, as we discover too late, has already changed us. We live, and we learn. Clichés abound and we often use them like so much “burn ointment”. “If should’ve would’ve, then what’d would never’ve.” We make them up with vagueness or clarity as well as with any focus, or lack of, in between the two extremes. “Next time, I’ll know better.” “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” “I got it, right between the eyes.” “Out of the frying pan,” you get my drift, I hope. We may not be able to change the past but we can sure find a million different ways to describe the same thing. I could never find a way of putting my feelings into words when it came to a situation that I had an opportunity, however minute, to affect. A new band found the music, the words, and the emotion that does justice to what happened. By the same token they did it in a way that is a touching tribute to the tenacity of the human spirit. We want to succeed in this life and there are those who make the greatest sacrifices and pay the highest price. Nineteen people died that day. I drove by the rig parked on the side of the road that morning and simply thought it odd that it was facing in the wrong direction. I’m not beating myself up inside over it, I’m just a person with a strong compassion for my fellow human beings. No muse ever developed from the experience, but even if one had, I don’t think anything I would have come up with could have ever come to be anywhere near as good as that song did. I try not to look back into the wrong corners of my mind too much. Every time I do it’s like a DVD stuck in a certain chapter, looping around over and over again. I try to remember the past so I won’t repeat mistakes. I’m not always successful but I give it my best every time. I do it for a few good reasons, but mainly for those who are now only somebody’s, memories.
12:48 PM
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